


Perversity

by harlequin (julie)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-03
Updated: 2009-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/harlequin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is reluctantly participating in a sexual relationship with Uther, but when Uther finally tells Arthur how proud he is of his son and heir, the dynamic between them starts to change into something more positive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perversity

**Author's Note:**

> The story draws on elements of episodes 109 _Excalibur_ and 113 _Le Morte d'Arthur_.

♦

Arthur knocks quietly at the door to the king’s chambers, but he is expected so he lets himself in, locks the door behind him. He is always mildly excited at this stage, heartbeat raised a little in anticipation. He knows what he will find: Uther already in bed, lying there waiting for him, naked under the covers, one arm thrown back above his head. Uther welcomes him with a smile.

Arthur strips in the usual place: near the bed, but not so near that Uther can’t see everything he wants to. He pauses a moment, naked, his cock hanging heavy against his thighs. And then he clambers onto the bed, kneeling on the fine sheets. He slowly draws back the covers so that Uther is revealed. Sometimes Uther wants different things, and gives his son soft blunt directions, but otherwise they have been doing this for so long that they have a settled pattern into which they fall, a sequence of moves and countermoves that works for them, that feels utterly familiar.

Uther is already hard. Arthur bends his head over that thick cock, takes it into his mouth, begins the usual rhythmic suckling. Lets his body settle with his upper torso over Uther’s near hip, his hands spread on Uther’s thighs, his own hips pressed against the sheets near Uther’s chest. Uther’s near hand toys with Arthur’s butt, stroking it, exploring the curves. Which is pleasant enough, but this is where Arthur always falters. He’s not entirely sure whether Uther knows or not – How could he not have known after a hundred or more such encounters? And yet Uther always revels in this act. When Arthur lifts his head, Uther will be smiling with the greatest contentment. So Arthur is never entirely sure whether Uther realises that this act demolishes Arthur’s initial excitement. He quite simply doesn’t like the taste, the sensations, the meaning of it. Regardless, Arthur applies himself to the task as thoroughly as he knows how.

Eventually Uther tucks a hand under Arthur’s near hip, and pushes, indicating that Arthur should roll over onto his back. Arthur disengages, and sees the contented smile on the usually stern face. Uther doesn’t falter once, even though Arthur’s cock is demonstrably less interested than it was. Now Uther works determinedly over Arthur, using lips and tongue and teeth and palms and fingers and thumbs on Arthur’s cock and balls and the ridge running back to his hole – and soon a finger is rubbing at the sensitive flesh there, then pressing inside, then fucking him, occasionally unintentionally brushing against that place deep inside him which triggers an ambivalent kind of pleasure. Again, Arthur is not keen on this act, on being penetrated. Despite the thoroughness of his attentions, Uther must work a long time to bring Arthur to completion. Surely he knows. Surely he knows. And yet they keep doing this. Uther will not stop inviting Arthur here to his chambers late at night. Uther will not adjust his expectations – and his expectations involve a mutual enjoyment.

Arthur has to work at his own pleasure, too, willing himself to finish. It would be easier if he could think of something else, someone else, and pretend it isn’t Uther whose mouth is sucking at him, whose hand rolls and tugs at his balls, whose finger breaches him. But he can’t. His imagination fails him and his thoughts always remain right here, right now, with the king. With his father.

At last, however, the end arrives, and it is pleasurable in a fraught kind of way. It is the only pleasure he has known for a long time now. Arthur feels raw and used, and yet there is of course one more act to complete. Uther arranges him as he wishes – the configuration of their two bodies while Uther fucks him is an aspect that changes from one encounter to another. Tonight Arthur is rolled over onto his front again, and Uther straddles his thighs, pushes himself up into Arthur. There isn’t any pain, not any more. But Uther’s cock is uncomfortably bulky, and Arthur wills himself open, relaxed, available. It is easier in this position; more difficult in arrangements where Arthur cannot let himself lie boneless, but must instead tense and use his muscles.

Uther begins with his torso propped up at arm’s length, but soon he rests his weight close over Arthur with his elbows beside Arthur’s ribs, slides his hands up under Arthur’s shoulders and grasps them with all his strength as he drives hard into him. Uther cries out in elation as he finishes, forcing himself in further still until Arthur knows nothing but the dizziness of being completely filled – then collapsing to lie fully on him for a moment. Afterwards he rolls aside, takes Arthur deep into his arms, wraps himself around his son. The inside of one strong thigh lying heavy across Arthur’s tender quiescent cock, his face tucked in against Arthur’s throat. It is comforting, in a way, and Arthur certainly likes being held.

Arthur lies there now, wide awake while Uther snuffles in a swiftly fallen sleep, pondering perversity. Which was the most perverse aspect of this? The fact that Uther must know of Arthur’s reluctance, and yet he continued to invite him here, continued to act and react as if Arthur found it entirely pleasurable? The fact that Arthur always came when summoned, never once refusing, and never once asking that they do anything differently, anything that would suit Arthur himself better? The fact that Arthur was capable of enjoying this warm encompassing embrace afterwards? The fact that this was the only time he felt that his father really approved of him? The fact that Arthur still loved his father desperately? Which was more perverse…?

Sleep takes Arthur, too, before he can find an answer.

♦

_Uther proved himself willing to die for Arthur. ‘You are too precious to me. You mean more to me than anything I know.’_

_Arthur is perplexed, to say the least. ‘I always thought that I was a big disappointment to you.’_

_‘Well, that is my fault, and not yours.’_

♦

Uther sent for him that same night, of course. Arthur knocked on the door, let himself in, locked it. But when he looked towards the bed, he saw it was empty. Strange. He turned his head, and found Uther sitting on the long couch by the fire. Uther welcomed him with a small smile, and said, ‘Come here, Arthur.’

He went, not knowing what to expect. He sat where Uther indicated, near him on the couch, and took the goblet of wine Uther offered. He swallowed a mouthful of wine, and then he waited for his father’s instructions.

Uther remained silent for a time, and then he quietly remarked, ‘I didn’t think I’d live out this day. I didn’t think I’d see you again.’

‘Father…’ He hardly knew what to say. Uther – a formidable knight in his time, but a man who hadn’t fought or even trained properly for years – had risked everything so that Arthur might live. It had been both the most humiliating and the most gratifying day _ever_. Well, for a start, Arthur’s humble gratitude must be expressed. ‘Father, I want to –’

But Uther silenced him with a lifted hand and a gentle shake of the head. ‘I have been very remiss. I have only ever wanted what was best for you, Arthur, and I know I have pushed you hard to achieve all that you can be –’

‘Father, please –’

‘No, you must let me finish. I have pushed you to be the very finest knight that Camelot has ever known, but I never told you that you _are_ that, and more, already.’

Something that had been knotted within Arthur’s chest came unravelled at these words. The process had begun that afternoon, but even then Uther had not been so explicit.

‘I have pushed you to be the best prince in all of Albion, but I never told you how proud I am that no other king has such an heir.’

Something that had been bound now slipped free.

‘I have pushed you to be an excellent king, when it is your time… Well, I will probably _keep_ pushing you there,’ Uther added with a slight chuckle. ‘But I am convinced that you will be a truly great king, perhaps the greatest of all the Pendragons –’

‘ _No_ , father,’ he protested, though his heart soared.

‘I am so very proud of you, Arthur. You will permit me a moment’s humility in which to express it. But don’t worry – the pride will continue, while the humility will soon be forgotten again.’

Arthur put down the goblet, and then he shifted to kneel on the floor by Uther’s feet, sat back on his heels. He took Uther’s near hand in both of his, and raised it to press a kiss to the back of it. ‘My lord,’ he murmured, ‘I am your servant.’

Uther shifted that hand to cup Arthur’s face, to run his palm back across Arthur’s hair. ‘You must never again think that I am disappointed in you, my son.’

‘No, father.’

Uther leant down a little, and Arthur knelt up, until they rested forehead to forehead. ‘It is quite the opposite, I assure you.’ And Uther whispered roughly, ‘I love you.’ Then – something that had never happened before – Uther’s mouth was on Arthur’s, and Uther was kissing him.

Arthur’s tentative excitement flared; he lifted his arms around Uther’s shoulders. The kiss was intoxicating. Everything shifted. Or, rather, everything stayed the same, but Arthur shifted around so far that he could see it all from an entirely different perspective. ‘Father,’ he murmured urgently against Uther’s mouth.

‘Yes. _Yes_ , Arthur.’

Then they were standing, heading towards the bed in a clumsy confusion of missteps and kisses and discarded clothing. Uther dragging Arthur down onto the sheets with him, even as Arthur wrestled his own britches off over his feet. And they were kissing, stretching out against each other, holding on close and hard, they were both ready for this, so very ready. ‘Fuck me,’ Arthur demanded. ‘By all the Gods, _fuck me_.’

He lay on his back while Uther shifted to kneel between his thighs; canted his hips as Uther reached a finger down to fuck him; arched as Uther’s callused finger–pad hit that strange place deep inside him: ‘There!’ he cried. ‘There!’

Uther’s eyes catch fire, and he moves forward, lifts Arthur’s butt up to rest on Uther’s thighs, presses slowly massively inside. Arthur is gasping with effort, but he wants this, he wants this so badly. Uther pushing in, further in, watching Arthur carefully – and then when he finds that hidden spot again, he settles in, and begins the most divine devastating rocking motion with his hips, rubbing his cockhead back and forth, back and forth, until Arthur is lost in the sheer animal pleasure of it, and then after an eternity of that it only takes one gentle caress of Uther’s hand on Arthur’s cock to finish him, to send him madly keening into the earth and water, the air and fire of this kingdom they share. Uther follows after him with a shout, and they run wild for a while, before returning to themselves and the bed and the castle.

‘I love you,’ Arthur whispers as they hold each other afterwards.

‘I know,’ says Uther. And he kisses him.

♦

_Arthur lay adrift in nightmares, knowing that he was lost, feeling the life ebb out of him in a feverish sweat. Fearing that the next place, if there were one, would be just like this, and he would lie alone in torment for all the ages with nothing to grasp onto._

_But then his father’s hand caressed his face, those cool fingers trailing down his cheek. ‘Sleep, Arthur,’ came the soft command. His own hand was grasped strong and true by the king._

_Arthur found peace._

♦

They often sat on the couch together for a while now, before heading for the bed. They would talk, and drink a little wine. Tonight, Uther was sitting in the corner of the couch, and Arthur was half–sitting, half–lying with his back to him, cradled in Uther’s arms, with his legs stretched out along the seat. Uther was feeding him grapes – which made Arthur laugh at the ridiculousness of it. But he also loved that sharp piquant burst of juice when he first bit down on the fruit. Finally he cried, ‘That’s enough! No more…’

‘You need to build up your strength,’ Uther chides.

‘I don’t think grapes are going to help much, father.’

‘I know,’ says Uther. He puts the platter aside, and turns back to his son, wraps him up even closer in both arms. ‘I almost lost you,’ he quietly observes.

‘I know,’ Arthur echoes, feeling sadness for Uther’s grief. ‘But I came back.’

‘Arthur…’ And for a long while there are no more words, only intermittent kisses pressed to Arthur’s hair and hands stroking his arms and his chest. Eventually, though, Uther reflected, ‘I am the most selfish of men.’

‘Why do you say that, father?’

‘I’ve been a king for so long. I wonder if you’ll be stronger than I am, when the whole kingdom is there for your taking… I suspect you will be.’ Uther sighed. ‘Arthur, I do not have a talent for – for denying myself. Anything. Anything I want, I must have.’

‘Tell me what you want, father, and you shall indeed have it.’

Uther crushed his son closer still. ‘ _You_ are what I have wanted most, Arthur. I wanted your love, as well as everything else, and you gave me it. Though I realise it wasn’t always… a desirable situation for you.’

Arthur’s heart cracked. So Uther had known. Arthur had spent so very long resentfully wishing that Uther would acknowledge how difficult this had been for Arthur at times; but now that he finally did, all Arthur could wish was that he himself had been a better, more obedient son. ‘Father, I _love_ you,’ he declared. ‘You are everything to me.’

‘I know. But perhaps I shouldn’t be.’

A fraught silence stretched.

‘Allow me a moment’s generosity, Arthur. A moment’s selflessness. Such moments have been few enough during my reign.’

‘Father…’ Arthur murmured.

‘When you were lying there – dying. I was sure you were dying. I _knew_ you were dying – I promised myself I would let you go. If you lived. If you wanted to be free of this.’

Arthur reached behind him with one arm, held his father’s head hard against his own. He scrunched up his face as tears pricked at his eyes.

‘And here we are, weeks later, and I have selfishly taken my pleasure from you three times since you were restored to me –’

‘ _Our_ pleasure,’ he weakly protested.

‘– but now at last I will do the right and proper thing, and offer you your freedom.’

‘Father, I –’ Arthur let a moment drag by. ‘I never expected this.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Uther dryly, ‘that I can still surprise you.’

Arthur was silent for a while, pondering perversity. Imagining his future with and without Uther’s love. Which was the most perverse? To deny an honest love? To deny an incestuous love that no one else could ever understand or approve of? To continue a relationship he had often wished he had the power to end? To continue belonging entirely to Uther, when really he should be out there trying to find himself a suitable wife, a future queen? To continue a relationship he had come to enjoy despite all the reasons why he shouldn’t? Which was more perverse…?

‘Well,’ said Uther, ‘what is your answer?’

♦


End file.
